


responsibility

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “It’s my job to protect you for as long as I can. Funny how that worked out.”





	responsibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChookTingle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChookTingle/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy, ChookTingle! This started from your prompt on one of the characters watching the other be tortued (one of my favorite things!), and things kinda spiralled from there.

Tony can’t think of much worse than being stuck on a flying donut in the middle of space. Other than being a prisoner on a flying donut in the middle of space. Or being a prisoner with Mister Wizard on a flying donut in the middle of space.

One happy thought: if said flying donut is in space, that means it isn’t currently making a mess out of New York City.

The Eye of Agamotto is still somehow around Strange’s stupid neck. He used it for some weird...floaty...thing a few minutes ago. Green light oozed from the Eye to form green cuffs around Strange’s wrists. Looked better than the actual rusted cuffs they’re currently wearing.

Some magician Strange is. Breaking out of handcuffs should be Kids Birthday Party Tricks 101 for a master of the mystic arts.

Squidward had the foresight to strip as much of Tony’s tech as he could before stowing them in this cell. He yanked the nano-core off Tony’s chest and everything else he could find. Tony feels naked in the metaphorical and literal sense. The Maw wasn’t even nice enough to put his shirt back on.

Still, the Maw couldn’t find everything. It’s with a mini pinpoint laser that Tony currently works on the lock of one cuff.

Strange, meanwhile, is being completely useless. He hasn’t done anything since using the Eye. Even Tony, who didn’t know the guy from Adam before today, notices how unsteady his breaths are. “Hope that mouth breathing's doing something to get us out of here, doc,” Tony hisses.

Strange doesn't get the chance to answer. The cell door creaks open, and the big guy Cull enters. Seems like Squidward got the brains of the operation. Besides a grunt here and there, Tony isn’t sure Obsidian talks at all.

Behind Cull follows the Maw, his narrowed gaze taking in what must be a pretty pathetic sight. Two humans in various states of undress shackled on the floor. Quite the housewarming gift for Thanos.

Tony glances at the Eye sitting on Strange’s stomach. No way flushing the damn thing could have been worse than this.

“We’ve found ourselves in a bit of a quandary,” the Maw says. “In my many years of service, I have never failed Thanos. Were I to relinquish you with that stone still around your miserable person, it would be a disgrace.”

“A quandary indeed,” Strange says. His head stays down, hair sloped over his forehead.

“You know what you could do?” Tony chimes in. “Let us go. We keep the stone. You avoid humiliation. Feels like a win-win.”

“He exhausts me,” the Maw sighs. He signals with a single finger, and Tony finds himself struggling in Cull's grip. Tony kicks and swings elbows.

“Let’s play a game, you and I.” This, the Maw says to Strange, who doesn’t even have the decency to watch Tony fight for his life. “It’s called, how much must I do to him before you give me the stone?”

“Nuh-uh, _bad_ idea.” Tony protests. With a well-timed duck, he manages to evade hands as big as his torso. “If you’re trying to get the stone, I’m not the guy you want. Merlin here? Doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Don’t waste your time, you-”

He pauses when fingers slide through his.

The Maw's wormy lips form a smile. He waves for Cull to stand down. “You told him,” he says to Strange, “didn’t you?” The words are like syrup off his tongue.

Tony doesn't remember being told anything beyond Strange having no intention of giving up the stone. Of course, because Strange is one selfish son of a bitch. If it wasn’t for Strange, Tony would be on solid ground right now on his own planet, in his own solar system.

Head still down, Strange nods. He doesn’t look at the Maw, but he squeezes Tony’s hand. It's like Strange is about to do something stupid. Like maybe trust Tony with his life even though they met a few hours ago through a sparkly portal in Central Park.

Tony turns his palm in Strange's and squeezes back. Strange wants trust? Fine. He’s got it. But he’s on a short leash.

Suddenly, Strange is off his feet. He isn't wrenched up by brute force but...lifted, light as a feather, with a gentle roll of the Maw’s wrist. Of course Strange gets the fancy magic treatment while Tony avoids being crushed by King Kong’s ugly cousin.

Strange’s toes scrape the floor as he’s dragged by invisible hands out of the cell. Strange's face seems pretty impassive for a guy held upright by voodoo. Must be a wizard thing.

“You,” the Maw mutters in Tony’s direction. This is Cull's cue to heft Tony up and give him a not-very-loving shove out of the cell

“Hey!” Tony barks. “Watch it, Baby Hulk.”

The reference gets a growl from Cull. Massive fingers pinch the links between Tony’s cuffs and drag him along like a disobedient puppy. He stumbles along, barely able to keep an eye on Strange as he’s magic-dragged through the ship’s long corridor.

If not for the whole 'life threatening situation' bit, Tony would want to check out every inch of this ship. It has the aesthetic charm of an industrial park, but its workings seem impressive. The ship has a large navigational screen with 3D renderings of vessel performance. The language isn't anything Tony recognizes, squiggly characters without letter or word breaks. Flashing charge boxes disrupt the monotony of gray wires and metal piping. A network of fuel cells or something else?

Unfortunately, Tony has imprisonment and torture to deal with.

Tony thinks he's kept pretty spry for his age, but hitting his knees when Warcraft shoves him down smarts. Tony grimaces when Cull taps his wannabe-Thor hammer under his chin.

As discreetly as possible, Tony begins to work on his cuff lock again.

Strange dangles in front of the Maw like some sad marionette. His head hangs between his shoulders, and Tony makes out the resigned set of his expression. It’s like Strange already knows what’s coming, like he’s bracing himself. Which isn’t possible. No one can see the future, especially not the Wizard of Oz over here.

The Maw grins, if the slimy thing on his face can be called a smile. His sharp eyes fall on Tony. “Tell me how to break the curse,” he says.

It’s beyond even Tony’s vast comprehension why Maw would think he knows how to break Strange’s curse on the time stone. Before today, Tony thought curses were a load of bull. Yet another part of the hero life: widening horizons.

“Don’t,” Strange says. He fixes his eyes on Tony. “No matter what.” The guy must do improv when he’s not painting rainbows on kids’ faces at county fairs.

Strange's seriousness makes Tony wonder if he _does_ know how to break the curse deep down. Maybe Strange did something when he used the time stone. He was even levitating. _Levitating._ How about that?

If Tony thinks hard enough, will he figure it out? Or was he supposed to pick up on some clue Strange clumsily tried to drop?

Fine needle-point shards materialize around Strange’s face. The fragments remind Tony of water congealed on New York City windows during the winter. Only, way sharper and more precise.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” the Maw says. “On my world, they're used for surgery. Refined enough to provide immediate relief. Or its opposite.”

Precision tools for operation controlled by the mind of its surgeon. That type of tool on Earth would revolutionize medical practice. But liability insurance would be something else. There would have to be consequences for unforeseen mental complications.

Such as, someone using the tools to stab a person in the face.

Maw’s needles don’t puncture Strange in the traditional sense. There is no blood or visible wounds. But they do cut through Strange's skin. One sinks through his left cheek, another through his forehead. One more through the right side of his neck, and a fourth straight through his jaw. Light flashes under the surface of Strange’s skin. It’s like the Maw is probing him from the inside, a floodlight illuminating veins and bone.

Strange stares straight ahead. Beyond Strange’s struggling breaths, he does not make a sound. Sick as it is, Tony feels proud on Strange’s behalf.

“Tell me,” the Maw says.

Tony has nothing to tell him. The Maw flexes his fingers.

The needlepoints start slow and smooth. No less painful, Tony is sure, but steady. When the Maw waves his hand, the shards shoot straight in. Strange grunts. His gaze flicks to Tony, and for the first time Tony sees a twinge of fear. Then it’s gone, hidden behind eyelids snapped shut.

Beneath Tony’s jaw, Cull's hammer taps a gentle rhythm. A promise of pain if Tony doesn’t cooperate. Tony scowls. If he did know how to break Strange’s curse, it would be hard for him to share with his head bludgeoned off.

Tony's laser continues to work. He's getting close.

“Tell me,” the Maw says, but Tony still has nothing to say.

More needlepoints appear above Strange’s hovering body. They sink down like acupuncture gone wrong. The points pierce Strange’s spine and the back of his neck. They disappear under Strange’s Tolkien robes. Strange breaks out in a sweat. He’s no longer trying to restrain the shaking of his breath. His mouth shines from quick swipes of his tongue.

“Tell me,” the Maw repeats.

Strange squeezes his eyes shut, and tears spill down his face. He bites his lip to keep himself quiet. Even from this angle, Tony sees his mouth swells to an angry red.

Speaking of angry, Tony is furious. He doesn't care about Strange; come on, why should he? 24 hours ago, Tony didn’t know the guy from any other robe-wearing Game of Thrones superfan.

But Tony doesn't like watching humans tortured by sadistic Spongebob rejects. Before Strange put together this awful plan, Tony was supposed to be the human pin cushion. The Maw was supposed to stab Tony from head to toe while Strange looked on, not giving a shit.

“Leave him alone,” Tony says. “You want the stone-”

“Tony, don’t.” Strange croaks. “Don’t tell him.”

“Why don’t you try your human crochet kit on me, huh? Make Strange tell you his secrets himself.”

“Don’t.” Strange’s voice catches on a whimper? Or a scream?

Whatever it is, Strange’s vocal chords are in shambles. He’s choking for air. There’s blood on Strange’s mouth from his own teeth.

“I said, _leave him alone,_ ” Tony says. He's so close on the cuffs, almost there, just another minute...

The Maw’s smile grows. He makes a pinching motion with his fingers. Strange gasps, mouth wide like he should be making more sound but can't.

Yes! The laser cuts through, Tony's one hand is free.

Tony starts to rise to his feet. He’s stopped by the sight of - is that Strange’s cloak? - tapping the Maw on the shoulder. With a frown, the Maw redirects his attention to -

The kid?

“Hey everyone,” Peter greets in full iron spider suit. He holds out Tony’s nanocore like a proudly presented gift. “Mister Stark, remember when you showed me that thing with the nanites? But you said to be careful because the tech was volatile and something real small could set it off? And, oh yeah! Have you guys heard of this super old movie Aliens?”

Energy explodes off the nanocore and cuts a hole right through the side of their flying donut. A perfect-sized hole for the Maw and Cull. The Maw's needlepoints shatter on the floor. Strange does too, landing in a painful heap.

“Kid!” Tony calls.

He finds himself holding the nanocore after a quick toss. Tony puts it to his naked chest and suits up. With his armor in place, patching the open hole between them and the vacuum of space is easy enough.

In the aftermath, everyone is breathing hard. Except the cloak - does the thing even breathe?

“So, I know you’re mad,” Peter says. His mask retreats to reveal his wide-eyed face. “But we were so high up when you tried to send me home. And this suit is really intuitive, so it’s kind of your fault I’m-”

Peter stops talking when Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Check back in a few minutes,” Tony says. “I'm mad, don't get me wrong. Furious actually. But not yet. You're next.”

Tony leaves the kid to attempt to introduce himself to Strange’s floating outerwear. No way should Peter be here, and Tony intends to let him know that. But Strange is first on the list.

Bending down, Tony sets a hand on Strange’s shoulder. Strange is a pile of arms and legs.

“That’s not your call,” Tony tells him. “That’s never your call actually. Ever.” Strange’s eyes have a glaze to them. “In case you missed it, I’m an Avenger. That means I don’t stand by while wizards with stupid plans get skewered on my behalf. You don’t _ever_ do that again. Give me your word.”

Strange turns towards his hands. “I can’t,” he says.

“What?”

“I can’t give you my word,” Strange says. “You’re too important.”

Tony frowns. “Too important to what? For who?”

“To the end,” Strange says. His mouth becomes a wry smile. “It’s my job to protect you for as long as I can. Funny how that worked out.”

The words are in English, but beyond that nothing makes sense. What ‘end’? Why would it be any business of Strange’s to protect Tony? And ‘for as long as I can’? What the hell does that mean?

“Yeah well, I don’t want you to protect me," Tony says, "so you can find yourself another job. This one’s not hiring.”

Strange sighs. “Tony, it’s not up to you-”

“It’s not up to you either!” Tony shouts.

The kid raises his head at the volume change. But he keeps his distance, shifting from foot to foot. Strange’s cloak hovers beside him like a ghost.

“It’s not up to you,” Tony repeats at his normal volume. “I don’t need protection, doc. I protect myself, and you know what? If I fail? That’s on me. That’s not on you, the kid, the Avengers, or anyone else.”

Strange’s mouth sets in a line of stubborn sympathy. Tony knows the look. He’s seen it plenty of times in the mirror.

“You’re right,” Strange says, “but it’s not up to me. It’s my job to protect you for as long as I can,” Strange tells him. “It’s not my decision.”

“That makes no sense!”

“I need to…” Strange struggles to get himself upright. He looks woozy. Tony helps, an arm around his waist. “I need to lie down,” Strange says.

Tony frowns. “Ok. Yeah. In the back, I remember - but we’re going to talk about this, Strange. When you’re up. We’re talking about it.”

“Alright,” Strange agrees. He shrugs out of Tony’s grasp, arms wrapped around himself.

Strange limps back to the row of sleepers between their cell and the open corridor. Tony does not even blink when Strange’s cloak flutters out after him. Sign of a bad day.

“Hey so, the wizard guy,” Peter asks when they are alone. “He ok?” His wide eyes give away his concern.

“Who knows, kid?” Tony mutters. “I’m throwing in the towel.”

***

Tony doesn’t throw in the towel though, because throwing in the towel is not what he does. Frustration only makes Tony more persistent.

It’s why, an hour later, he’s pacing in front of the sleepers in a back corridor of the ship. Strange lies on the one closest to Tony. He’s on his back, eyes closed and a loose fist against his forehead. Despite the pose, Strange is very much awake. His brow furrows deeper the longer Tony speaks.

"This whole ‘protect me at all costs’ thing? Where was that in New York? Flushing that damn stone sure seems like it falls under the ‘protect me all costs’ column. Then you, me, the kid, and your fashion sidekick wouldn’t be stuck on a flying Cheerio cruising our way to Thanos.”

“We should let the ship run its course,” Strange says. Tony pauses in his pacing. It’s the first time since Tony’s diatribe started that Strange sees fit to insert his opinion. “If we return to Earth, Thanos will follow seeking the stone," Strange adds. "Turning back now will put more lives at stake.”

Tony’s thinking is the same, much as he hates the idea of going against Thanos on his home turf. Under no circumstances can they turn this ship around. Smart or not, the only thing they can do is protect as many lives back on Earth as possible.

That means taking the time stone to Thanos. Him, the good doctor, the kid, and a living blanket. Fantastic.

“Fine. We let the auto-nav take us to Thanos. Once we're there? You stay the hell out of my way,” Tony tells him. “Keep that rock away from Thanos. That's your only job.”

“No can do,” Strange says. His eyes look as lifeless as the steel surrounding them on all sides. “You’re my responsibility.”

“The _stone_ is your responsibility,” Tony counters. “You told us that yourself. You swore to protect the time stone with your life, right? So if it’s between me and the stone-”

“You’re more important,” Strange says. A moment that Tony doesn’t understand passes between them. “Please don’t fight me on this. I know what I saw.”

“What you _saw_?” Tony frowns. “Hang on. We're basing our universe-saving plans on you becoming Agnes Nutter all of a sudden?”

“Uh, guys?” Peter's wide-eyed face peeks around a corner. “I think we're here.”

Alarms blare through the Maw’s ship.

***

Thanos' planet is called Titan. It's a junk heap, nothing but dirt and the rusted remains of a life that once was.

Of course Thanos would be That Villain with a tragic backstory. Tony would roll his eyes about the whole thing, if not for the other Thanos killing party who rains on their parade.

They sort it out, somewhat. Their leader calls himself Star Lord and seems to like comparisons to Flash Gordon. He also has questionable taste in film, if his affinity for Footloose is any indication.

At least Peter Quill makes more sense to Tony than the muscle bound green guy who yawns through Tony's plan. Or the lady with the antennae.

Quill also makes more sense than Strange, who stays quiet until the end of Tony's brief.

When Tony finishes, Strange rests a hand on his shoulder. "You're right," Strange says. "Our best shot against Thanos is to catch him off guard. Get the stones, then get away as fast as possible. He'll come alone. You all take cover in the wreckage. Form a perimeter. I'll distract him."

Quill, Mantis, Drax, and even the kid nod as if Strange is suddenly the plan guy around here.

"Absolutely not," Tony says.

"Tony-"

"I told you," Tony interrupts. "No more playing the hero, got it? Not while you've got that stone around your neck."

Strange blows out a breath. It's the type of sound a frustrated person makes when they want to seem patient. "The time stone is exactly why I should be the distraction," Strange says. "It's what Thanos wants. His focus will be on me."

More nods. "He's got a point," Quill says.

"No one asked you, Mister Lord," Tony grumbles.

Quill's brow rises. "Mister? Star Lord is fine-"

"I don't care," Tony cuts in. "Sorry, I would, but it's a horrible plan. The worst. Let's just," he waves a hand, "toss our biggest asset in front of Thanos on a silver platter! No way. You?" He jerks a thumb at Strange. "Stay out of sight. You only come out when we've got him contained and it's time for Bug Girl to do her thing."

"I think her name is Mantis, Mister Stark," Peter pipes in helpfully.

"Tony." Strange says his name like he's tasting every syllable. "It has to be me. You know I'm right."

"Hate to break it to you, doc, but those fancy medical credentials of yours don't mean jack up here. I don't have to know you're right about anything. "

"He will kill any one of you on sight," Strange's voice inches up in volume. It's good to hear that the doctor can still become rattled. "Except for me. I have what he wants, and he can't take it off my corpse because-"

"Because of your little curse, how could I forget? That's right, I can't, because of that stunt you pulled up there!" Tony exclaims. "I don't care if you think you're right. We're not putting the stone, or you, in the line of fire, and that's-"

Final. Tony means to say 'that's final.'

He doesn't say anything because Strange is in his space without warning. Tony straightens for a fight. His wide-eyed bluster snags when Strange's lips press to his. It doesn't feel like a first kiss should, tentative or passionate. It feels like a point made. Something Tony should have seen coming from a mile away.

Tony feels startled stares on his back. "Oh," Quill mumbles behind them. "Ok, that makes sense."

"What could possibly make sense about this?" Tony demands. It's easier to turn on Quill than stand silent under Strange's unreadable gaze.

Quill raises a placating hand. "Dude, I get it. It sucks when someone you dig is in trouble. Why do you think I'm here to kill this son of a bitch? He took my girl, and I'm getting her back."

"I would give anything to have the chance to protect my wife and daughter again," Drax agrees. He looks at the kid with a knowing nod. "You must protect your family at all costs, iron person."

"Look that's great...and horrible…" Tony huffs. "But you're completely missing the point. And Parker's not our kid, or my kid, he-"

"So, is this new?" Peter asks. His voice is small but full of wonder. "Was it when you guys were having all that alone time on the ship?"

"Kid, that's not-"

It's too late. Peter's shock blossoms to full, beaming joy. "I'm so happy for you, Mister Stark!" he enthuses. "This? Totally not what I was expecting, but-"

"Would you stop?" Tony barks. "I do not _dig him_." He glares at Quill.

Star Lord's smile is both bewildered and amused. Whichever way this turns, Quill will enjoy it immensely by the looks of things.

Tony turns his aggravation on Strange, whose expressionless face may as well be made out of rock. "Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but the fate of the universe is at stake, Strange. I know what Thanos is about. He's been in my head for six years. One false move and everything's done. That goes for me, the kid, Mantis, the jolly green giant, Mister Lord-"

"Come _on_ , man."

"And especially for you." He jabs a finger at the Eye on Strange's stomach. "Because of that."

This is the part where Strange will put on one of his scholarly smug faces. Claim that, unlike everyone else, Strange doesn't work for Tony. Yadda yadda.

Strange sets a hand in Tony's shoulder. Without the iron suit on, Tony feels how warm Strange is through his clothes. "It's alright," Strange says.

When he retreats, it's towards an open place in the wreckage. A long-crumbled chunk of stone stands among the remains of broken ships. "I'll be here," Strange tells them. "Take cover along the perimeter." He eyes the moon hanging over their heads like something out of Independence Day. "He'll be here soon."

To Tony's befuddlement, the rest of their party seems content to follow this crazy idea. Quill shrugs and begins scouting the busted cruisers lining Strange's left side. Drax takes the right.

"Unbelievable," Tony grumbles. How the hell does Strange even know Thanos will be here soon? This whole thing is insane.

The kid's beaming face pops up in front of him. "So, um," Peter fidgets. "I know you must be worried… I mean, it's scary! Like, I know with MJ sometimes I-"

"Kid," Tony interrupts in as calm a voice as he can muster. "Let's not, ok?"

"Right," Peter says, nodding. "Sorry. But he'll be ok." He smiles. "We've got this. We're the Avengers!"

"Yeah, kid." Tony bumps a gentle fist against Peter's chest. "We're the Avengers alright."

He finds Strange watching from his wide open perch. His slow nod doesn't give Tony one ounce of comfort.

***

And, they're losing.

The bad turn of fortune has little to do with Strange's stupid 'I'll be the decoy' schtick, to be fair. They have their shots. Some blue chick shows up out of nowhere and plows into Thanos with a space pod. That's something.

They almost have him. Arms pinned. Portal opened. Tony has to give Antennae Lady credit, whatever zen-inducing mojo she has is potent stuff. As Tony and Peter wrench at the gauntlet on Thanos' hand, Tony thinks they may actually pull this crazy stunt off.

Then, it comes out that Thanos killed Quill's girlfriend and, well, shit hits the proverbial fan.

In the blink of an eye, the plan changes from getting the gauntlet to staying alive. Easier said than done when their competition is throwing _moons_ at them.

The fight becomes something well beyond even Tony's considerable pay grade. He's dodging meteors and crashing through spacecraft that Earth is centuries from inventing.

Then there's Strange, with lariats made of energy and hundreds of doubles. It's impressive. Tony will never make fun of Dungeons and Dragons conventions ever again.

But nothing works, because Thanos can...bend space. He plucks Strange from the ground like a bird with a broken wing. Tony's heart jumps into his throat when Thanos yanks the Eye off Strange's body. The thing crumbles like a failed baking experiment. "A fake," Thanos grumbles.

He tosses Strange to the ground like an empty soda can, and Strange's face cracks against rock. He stops moving. There is blood on his brow.

Thanos advances on Strange, but Tony stands in the way. He doesn't know what happened to the kid or their new space buddies. Tony is all alone between Thanos and Mister Wizard. All part of that hero life.

He steels himself behind his iron exterior. "You throw another moon at me, and I'm going to lose it," Tony warns.

Tony's entire life, his whole career, have led to this moment. The suit, the technology, it's all as advanced as Tony could develop. He's pushed the limits of human technology and the boundaries of his own brain.

Tony stays alive long enough to know his most exhaustive efforts pale next to the universe. Every ounce of Tony's tears and sweat are only good enough for one drop of Thanos' blood. Thanos laughs about the cut on his cheek. He _laughs_.

The nanotech is failing - or, no. Not failing. It's too slow. It isn't enough. Thanos is on Tony faster than his suit can regenerate.

Tony deflects Thanos' fist from his bare face. All the juice Tony has left goes into developing his iron blade. The rest of his body is stripped bare of its armor. This is it, Tony's last shot.

Tony propels the blade forward. Thanos snaps it from Tony's suit like he's breaking a wishbone. Intent glares clear as a summer day in Thanos eyes.

The next thing Tony knows, he's on the ground. Tony gasps and checks himself for injuries. A few cuts and bruises, that's it.

He spins around in time to see Strange fall. The iron blade slips from his side with a sickening slice. His robes stain red around the midsection. Strange lands on his back, and his air wheezes out.

"Now look what you've made me do." Thanos turns a wry smile on Tony.

He advances, still holding the iron blade. Tony scrambles back on the dirt. He only has half a suit, the rest shattered as if something took a bite out of him. Without his armor, Tony feels naked. Worse, he feels inferior. As brilliant as he is, as much as he's done and survived, in this moment he has nothing else to give. Not for himself, or Strange, or the kid, or the fate of his planet. Tony has nothing.

"Stop." Tony finds Strange struggling to sit up. "Spare his life and I'll give you the stone."

Tony stares at Strange. His mouth moves a few times but no sound comes out.

"No tricks," Thanos warns. Strange shakes his head.

"Don't," Tony says when he finds his voice.

It's like no one hears him anymore. Like he's insignificant to the deal in progress. Thanos swings the gauntlet at Strange on his back. It seems like overkill given the blood bubbling up from his side.

Strange lifts a hand. Between thumb and forefinger, a green stone appears. It hovers above Strange's palm.

"Strange, don't you dare!" Tony shouts.

The stone is already crossing the dead earth of Titan. It drifts as if compelled to settle in Thanos' outstretched hand.

When the time stone clicks into place, Thanos' presence becomes even more terrifying. Power floods his veins and spills down his arched back. Thanos roars in triumph. Not even shots from Quill's blasters deter him.

Thanos closes his fist. A haze of blue smoke sprouts up around him. Then, he's gone. Thanos is gone. Their last hope of getting the gauntlet. They failed.

Tony scrambles across the dirt, dust in his nails. He barely hears Quill's disbelieving, "Did we just lose?"

"Why did you do that?" Tony demands. His voice is shaking. At Strange's side, he beats a fist against the ground. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Strange looks up at Tony, but Tony doubts he can see anything. His eyes are too fogged over. "I told you why," he mumbles.

Robes are the least practical thing to wear into a fight. Tony has to tear them at awkward angles to bare Strange's injured torso. The wound is thin, luckily, but deep.

Tony musters whatever juice he has left and goes to work sterilizing Strange's wound. "You idiot," he grumbles.

He feels the group presence grow behind them. The kid, Quill, the green guy, Mantis, and their new blue friend. Seems like everyone else made it out in one piece.

Only, Thanos is one stone away from wasting the universe. Tony thinks of Vision, and a knot forms in his gut.

"Tony." Strange's voice comes out weak. "There was no other way."

"There's always another way," Tony snaps at him. "Always. You don't get to make that call, Strange. You _don't_."

"The stone made the call. I wish it didn't."

Tony is still on his knees next to Strange when Mantis lifts her worried head. "Something's happening," she says.

Then, she turns to dust. She just. She turns to dust. One minute Mantis exists, the next she's a whisper of dirt in the air.

Drax follows, then Quill.

Tony scrambles after Peter when he starts to fall. He holds the kid as tight as he can for as long as he can.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispers.

The dust of Peter's body sticks to Strange's blood on Tony's hands.

"He did it," the blue woman says.

Tony sits in the dirt, his filthy hands tucked to his sides. Beside him, Strange shudders and closes his eyes.

***

Tony wants to be a lot of things.

He wants to be angry, he wants to feel sad, he wants any of the horror of what happened to hit him. But in the days that follow trapped on a dying ship in the middle of space, all Tony can feel is numb. He wakes up in the middle of the night, if night is even a thing up here, with voiceless screams on his lips. He can still feel Peter's hands in his right before Peter turned to ash.

The blue woman's name is Nebula. It turns out she is a valuable friend to have. Nebula is familiar with their current vessel - named the Benatar, funny enough. She works with Tony to get any juice possible from the dying fuel cells. She ups their life support systems as much as they can go. It buys them another week.

Nebula also has some knowledge of the medical equipment on this ship. Where Tony was able to cauterize Strange's injury on Titan, Nebula is able to disinfect it. Strange's fever breaks after 48 hours. As Nebula works, Strange mumbles nonsense about an angel carrying them home.

Strange also does not let go of Tony's hand. Tony hates this so much that he lets Strange continue out of spite.

In the hours that follow, Tony stays next to the med table. He wills himself to be angry, to scream at Strange for being so damn stupid. Strange made a bed that they all have to lie in now. But they'll be dead in a few days. What's the point.

"Eat," Nebula says, thrusting a silver package of dried out mix at him. She sticks it between Tony's sight line to Strange's face, which he's been glaring at for the past few hours. If Nebula notices how Tony lets Strange's fingers dangle into his, she's nice enough not to mention it.

"He has to eat too," Tony grumbles. A perfectly sane thing to demand of an unconscious guy.

Nebula is a lot of things, but she's not one for pity when it comes to melodrama. She drops the bag of rations on Tony's lap. "Eat," she says again before marching away. It's impressive how a half-mechanized body can keep up such a sass-serving strut.

With a huff, Tony pulls his hand from Strange's and cradles the bag in his lap. He shovels a handful into his mouth. No idea what's in it, but it's a little salty and a little sweet. Not bad.

Strange's head shifts, and a furrow forms between his brows.

Mouth half full, Tony leans over the table. "I hate you," he says. "Hi, by the way. We're going to die in a few days. Those of us who didn't turn into ashtray leftovers anyway. So, you know, thanks for that. Great plan."

Strange manages to get both eyes open. They swim towards Tony. "Are you-" His croaked voice breaks off on a series of coughs. Strange's fingers hover over his bandaged side.

"Am I?" Tony's voice shoots up in volume and incredulity. "Am I ok, you mean? Guess what, buddy. We lost. Thanos got the stones. People died, good fucking people. And we? Are coffin-bound in approximately five days. So that protection plan of yours? Complete bullshit, Strange. Complete. Bullshit."

Strange actually responds like a human being. He winces and turns away. "You're alright," he rasps. "Good."

Tony's anger spikes.

Standing, Tony smacks the bag of rations down on Strange's shoulder. "Eat," he growls before stalking out of the med wing.

It's a great note to end on. With Tony's luck, they'll run out of oxygen before he has to see Strange's face again.

Five minutes later, Tony skulks back in.

Tony wishes he could say he's taking the higher ground. But it's his own pride that brings him back. Morbid as it is, what would prove Tony right is Strange outliving him in this floating death box.

Tony sets a thermos of water on the stand next to Strange's med table. Strange's normally long body crumples as tight as he can manage with his injury. Tony does not need to see Strange's face to know there are tears on it.

Tony wants to shout that the guy has no right to cry after what he pulled. And laugh, awful as it is. Tony wants to laugh in Strange's face.

A small part of Tony wants to stay too. Resume his seat and set a commiserating hand on Strange's back.

"Water," Tony mumbles. Before he can be tempted further, he turns around and leaves.

***

All things considered, Tony thinks he’s handling the whole ‘countdown to death’ thing well. Their food and water is set to run out in the next two days. That’s with Nebula continuing to insist that she doesn’t need either. Oxygen should run out by the end of the week. No idea if Nebula can survive without oxygen. Tony won’t last long enough to find out.

He tries to keep his spirits up. Teaching Nebula ways to pass the time turns out to be more fun than expected. Flip football is a treat. Tony lets her win, and they shake over it. Nebula say the game is fun the same way she might say she wants to rip out a throat.

It helps Tony’s mood to record video entry logs. Who knows if this junk heap will get anywhere close to Earth, but Tony likes to think of someone finding them. The final days of Tony Stark. He wonders how much the entries would go at auction.

Tony captures messages for the friends who might still be alive out there somewhere. Rhodey. Natasha. Clint. Hap. Pepper. Bruce. He records a special message for May and fails to keep the emotion from his voice.

After sitting on it for awhile, Tony manages a message for Rogers too. Yes, Tony is mad. But holding a grudge is exhausting, and Tony is trying to save up all his energy for these last few days.

Tony finds Strange in the cargo hold circling his fingers like a bad Karate Kid impression. Sparks of golden light fizzle off their tips. Without it, the cargo hold is cast into the grayish-green haze of a dead ship barely running on life support.

Tony lifts his helmet. “You got anyone you want to leave a message for, doc?”

“No,” Strange says. He looks healthier than he did immediately following Thanos, but lack of food is taking its toll. His cheeks are sinking in, and his robes hang baggy on his much thinner body. Tony must look the same. He’s taken care to avoid his own reflection as often as possible.

“Not one?” Tony presses. “No family? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? How about Wong? Sure you don’t have any last words for your best magic pal?”

Strange lowers his unsuccessful hands and gives Tony a look. After a moment, his expression softens. “Thanks, Tony,” he says.

Tony is not a fan of this new reality where Strange refuses to rise to his bait. Tony is still furious at him, but it’s hard to voice that anger with Strange acting like a kicked puppy.

And what’s the use now. They’ll both be dead in a few days.

“You know, I never got to tour the Taj Mahal,” Tony says. “I’ve been to India plenty of times. Business, vacation. I always said I’d get there next time, work out something more exclusive. That would have been nice. I’ve got a couple of those things in my head. Random stuff I would have liked to do.”

Shrugging, Tony props his helmet under his arm and turns to leave.

“I never saw Chuck Mangione live,” Strange says. Tony pauses at the pensive look on Strange’s face. “He played once when I was in San Francisco for a conference. I still don't know why I didn't go. If there was someone on the donor board I was trying to meet, or… I don’t even know if he still tours. It’s hard to keep up with things when you’re monitoring the cosmos for interdimensional threats.” He cracks a smile.

“That’s a good one,” Tony agrees. “Same, never caught him. Feels So Good gets plenty of play in Casa Stark though. Too bad this piece of junk won’t have Spotify. I wouldn’t mind going out to a little Mangione.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Strange says. He keeps his eyes on Tony.

Tony clears his throat. Strange's eyes are dangerous things.

“So, when you were out of it, you said something about an angel carrying us home. You standing by that, doc?”

Strange shrugs in a way that says he’s confident but not as much as he once was. Doubts are natural when a guy finds himself in a death box in the middle of space.

Crazy as the idea is, Tony hopes Strange is right too. But he’s learned not to put a lot of stock in ‘hope.’

***

Tony is tired. He isn’t sure if the air in the Benatar is getting thin, or if his body is losing the ability to breathe. A weight seems to push harder on his chest with each passing minute. Tony's lungs burn every time they expand.

The nice thing about being so tired is Tony barely feels any of it. His eyelids are heavy. It would be so easy to let them close and sleep.

Tony sets his head against the side of a cockpit chair. If his eyes weren’t so hazy, he’d admit it’s a hell of a view from this part of the ship. Scary - no, downright terrifying. But how can anyone not feel awe at the sight of endless blackness? Stars twinkle like miniature lightning bugs in the distance, but that’s it. It’s just the emptiness of space, a dead ship, and the three of them.

Tony isn’t sure where Nebula is. For her sake, he hopes she’s off doing whatever she used to before coming in contact with them. Despite the Blue Meanie exterior, Tony likes Nebula. He doesn’t want her to see this part.

Tony chokes down another breath when a sluggish hand lands on his head. It’s heavy, and the fingers barely move.

Strange sits on the chair Tony leans against. Tony can’t see his face. Seeing his face would require turning his head upward. That would take far more energy than Tony has right now.

“Some angel,” Tony wheezes. Nice thing about being so tired, he doesn’t have to think about how weak his own voice sounds.

Strange won’t even concede being wrong with a response. All he does is move his half-dead hand from Tony’s hair to his shoulder. Fingers ghost against Tony's stubble-roughened face.

With the weight of Strange’s hand on his shoulder, Tony lets himself drift. Good thing about such a wide open universe, there’s plenty of room to roam. Tony goes back to his mom laughing at something in the paper. Or his dad telling him money never bought a second of time. He sees himself shooting the shit with Rhodey. Then lying in a pile of broken sidewalk realizing that New York was safe.

It would have been a pretty good life with no Thanos. Not a bad life at all.

The darkness is soft and comfortable. Tony likes it here. He doesn’t like the sudden flash of light threatening to burn through his eyelids. Tony turns his head fitfully against Strange’s fingers. It’s everywhere, the kind of brightness that demands attention.

Tony squints, a hand shielding his face. The light drowns out even the unending blackness of space. Its flame coalesces before his bloodshot eyes. A woman’s figure, with long blonde hair and an outfit that would make Steve Rogers proud.

Maybe Tony is already dead.

Or maybe. “Angel,” he rasps. “Right.”

The ship begins to move - as in, this woman-looking...thing is moving their ship. Tony musters enough energy to look up at Strange. The guy is all cheekbones now, his face gaunt and gray. His half-lidded eyes watch stars shift by outside the Benatar.

“I hate you,” Tony tells him.

A hint of a smile touches Strange's lips.

***

They’re alive. Somehow.

Angel Girl, it turns out, isn’t an angel at all. Her name is Carol Danvers. She makes one hell of a soft landing with a dead spaceship.

Tony blinks awake to the sight of the Avengers Facility in upstate New York. Tony barely feels his legs as Nebula helps him from the craft. He must look like warmed over crap, but the good news is that there are recognizable faces waiting. Nat, and Bruce, and Rhodey, and Pepper, and yeah - even Steve, who Tony has to muster the strength to tell that he lost the kid.

“Tony, we lost,” Steve says, which (damn it, Rogers) is not what Tony wants to hear right now.

Tony flails a hand behind him with whatever strength he has left. “He needs help too,” Tony mumbles. He realizes how much of his weight he’s having to lean on Steve and Rhodes. It’s like trying to shove a cement truck to turn his head and make sure Strange has someone helping him too.

He does. Carol, as a matter of fact, since Nebula has moved on to kneeling in front of a - what _is_ that thing, a Build-a-Bear?

Doesn’t matter. Too much brain power, which is a thought Tony has never had before.

They don’t get him to a bed a moment too soon. When the cot is under Tony, his legs give out, and his world goes black like the deepest pit of space. Someplace not even Angel Girl can find him.

***

Tony wakes from every spell of unconsciousness to the sight of Stephen Strange’s cot across from his.

“Your call,” Rhodes tells Tony when he asks about the shared quarters. “You said you didn’t want him out of your sight, so… He’s all yours, man.”

Doesn’t sound like Tony. Clearly delirious from lack of food and water. And Rhodes doesn’t need to sound so smug about it.

New York adds insult to injury by going through a spell of beautiful weather. It’s sunny every time Tony opens his eyes, brightness filling their shared space. It reflects off the white walls and white floors. Strange’s white sheets, white hospital gown, and his too-pale-to-be-normal white skin.

When Tony is healthy enough, he gets Rhodes to hook him up with a wheelchair. Tony still feels nauseous half the time, but he can get himself around with the chair and an IV.

He’s up and moving faster than Strange. Strange’s conscious bouts are few and far between. Tony is sure Strange is doing this on purpose. Working up Tony's concern to stop Tony from strangling him in his sleep.

To Strange’s credit, he doesn’t hide when he’s awake. He looks right at Tony, expression the ideal of calm. “Sleep well?” he asks; whispers actually, in a voice that sounds like it’s gone through a cheese grater.

Strange asks this no matter what situation they find themselves. Sometimes, Tony is lying in the opposing bed staring at him. Other times, Tony is walking in, helped along by Rhodes. (A favor Tony never wanted or expected to be returned.)

This time, Tony’s wheelchair is right next to Strange’s bed. Tony woke up to the Facility empty and a note on his tableside saying “Important. Back soon.” Steve’s handwriting. Tony is a little bitter for remembering what Steve's handwriting looks like.

Their absence leaves Tony to sit next to Strange’s bed until the good doctor feels the need to open his eyes. His face is beginning to fill out again, but it’s still way too bony. Tony has no idea how Strange can have such dark circles under his eyes when he sleeps all the time. He’s sure Strange would give him some complicated medical reason, the jerk.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Tony tells him. His voice sounds a lot more like him, no longer that hoarse rasp that sounded like death. “You know why? Because Thanos got all the stones. Because he snapped his fingers and knocked half of _existence_ off the playing field. You know how he got all those stones?”

“I’m sure you’ll remind me,” Strange says.

“Because of _you_ ,” Tony shouts. “Because you _gave_ him the time stone. Handed it to him! On a goddamn silver platter! And you try to claim that this bullshit was because of me. You claim that you did it _for_ me.”

Strange blows out a weary breath. “You don’t understand-”

“I’m asking you, no, I’m begging you. Make me understand.” Tony’s hand goes white-knuckled around his rolling IV rack. “If you don’t, there won’t be any ‘sleeping well’ ever again. Because all I can think about is that Thanos won. He got what he was after, and for some magic bullshit reason it’s because of me.”

“Tony.” His name in Strange’s voice comes out tired. “I can’t tell you everything. I can’t. But the stone said we need you. We were going to lose no matter what. Except for this one chance. It was my job to make sure you made it out alive. I-”

“It’s garbage,” Tony tells him. “You know that, right? Half of all life, Strange. Half of all life is gone. I can’t have that weight on me.” He wishes his voice were steady, he wishes he had all his strength and anger behind it. “I can’t.”

Strange nods with another painful-sounding swallow. “You don’t have to. I’m-”

“Please don’t say you’re here,” Tony warns. “Don’t you dare. You haven’t earned that.” Teeth grit, he wheels himself to Strange’s nightstand and snatches up the water jug. A splatter of water clanks against the stand.

Strange is careful as he raises the cup to his chapped lips, and even more careful as he tips it back. Strange winces as he swallows, but he takes another sip, and another until the entire cup is empty. His eyes close when he finishes. The cup slips out of his grasp to land against his covered lap.

“When you get up from this bed, I’m punching you in the face,” Tony tells him. “I promise you that.”

“Mmhm,” Strange agrees. He’s already half-asleep.

***

Turns out “Important” means “Found Thanos.” “Back Soon” means “Off to Kill Thanos.”

Thanos is dead. He’s dead, but the universe is no closer to being set back to normal. Tony doesn’t know he has any other piece left inside him to die until he gets the news. Thanos has been in his head for six years, flooding Tony’s nightmares with visions of a violent end. Maybe Tony always knew this would happen and Strange isn’t the only one who can see the future.

But Tony can’t shake the cold shock that comes from saving lives one too many times. Superhero-itis. Tony knew they should be put in check. He knew what could happen if power tipped too far off the scales. But he’s still can't believe that things managed to go so horribly wrong.

Once the deed is done, there isn’t much tying them to the Facility anymore. Nat decides to hold down the fort, because of course she does. Rhodes, always a good man, agrees to join Nat’s new monitoring team. They will spread out around the globe and through space. Rhodes and Okoye, a general under the Wakandan army, are her main operatives on Earth. Nebula rejoins her Build-a-Bear pal for space missions, and Angel Girl heads out on her own too.

Thor still has a handful of people, and they need a new home. He says Asgard's safety is his responsibility. (It's one of the only things Thor says since striking the death blow.)

“We should check up on him,” Strange says under his breath. “Every few months or so. Send Dr. Banner and the captain too.”

“Why?” Tony asks, but Strange doesn't answer. It's fine. Tony doesn’t need an answer. He knows the look of someone who shouldn’t be alone for long. Thor has that look. Truth is, they all do.

Bruce and Steve decide to head back to New York City. Bruce mumbles something about getting back to the lab. Steve, in true Captain America fashion, wants to get back to helping people.

Tony can’t go back to the city. It’s worse than after the invasion of 2012, when the city broke but could be rebuilt. This time, the buildings are still standing, but the streets are so empty. New York City was not built for silence. Its activity is electric, almost oppressive at times. But it is always alive, always moving, always has something to say.

Now, New York City is shadows and tears. Those who remain wander around like zombies. There are panics, sure. Raids on the banks. Theft. Break-ins. But the rest wonder what they should do. Should school be in session? Should people go to work? What industries are still up and running? What services do people need in a world cut in half?

Tony can’t be in the city, so he stays upstate. A little cabin getaway has been in the Stark name for a few years now. Good place for Tony to get away if he needed a mental retreat in the past. As good as his mind is under the bright lights of Manhattan, the solitude used to spur his imagination.

Now, it gives Tony room to breathe. To scream. To cry. To punch everything in sight until his fists bleed. Everything except the thing he wants most.

New York City has one last thing for Tony. On Bleecker Street in 177A, its door still standing without a scratch as if half the world has not ended.

Tony only has to knock once. Strange appears looking every bit the King Arthur cosplay. The only thing missing is his living cape. Come to think of it, Tony can’t remember seeing the thing after the Battle on Titan. Seems fair. The universe lost half its inhabitants, Strange lost his favorite article of clothing.

“One knock,” Tony acknowledges. “See me coming?” He lets himself in without waiting for Strange’s permission.

Strange sighs but closes the door behind him. “I was working down here.”

“Uh-huh.” Half-listening, Tony takes a loop around the perimeter of Strange’s foyer. The room is dark, shades over every window. He angles a look up the grand staircase. “What’s Wong up to in Apocalypse World?”

“Wong isn’t here.” Leaning on the front door, Strange turns away.

Tony has a few sharp comments on his tongue, but he lets them die unsaid. Fact is, he won’t feel good saying any of them. He’s still mad, it’s why he’s here, but he’s done rubbing Strange or anyone else’s face in what they’ve lost.

“What are you working on?” Tony asks instead.

Strange shrugs. “Dimensional portals.” By the tone of his voice, he may as well have said ‘laundry.’

“Right. Dimensional portals. Good call. Real useful.”

“And what have you been working on at your cabin by the lake?” Strange asks. He adds some of that zing back to his voice, the type that never fails to make Tony want to tear him down piece by piece.

“Would you believe nothing?” Tony asks.

“With you?” Strange raises a disbelieving brow. “No.”

“Guess you need to open your mind a little more, doc,” Tony says. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about keeping a promise.”

Strange nods. His shoulders sink down a good inch, and the tension eases out of his jaw. “Alright.”

“What, no defense voodoo or whatever you masters of the mystic arts do?”

“No defense voodoo,” Strange says.

Challenge accepted in that case. Tony stalks forward and raises his fist.

The punch connects flush, bone on bone. Tony feels the sting of success through his knuckles, and pain vibrates up his arm. Strange’s head snaps to the side. His hands stay at his sides even in the aftermath of the blow. Redness blossoms high on his cheekbone.

Under Tony’s narrowed gaze, Strange stands up straight again. His left eye squints open. “Was that all?” Strange asks.

If anything else came out of his mouth, Tony may have walked away. It’s a satisfying hit, his arm still aches. Point made. Promise kept.

But Tony’s hands are on Strange before his brain can catch up. They grapple against the door. Strange gives Tony one free hit, but he does not stay dormant as Tony’s hands tangle in his robes. Strange shoves back. Tony grabs his hands. Fingers lock with fingers.

Tony forces Strange against the door hard enough to break Strange’s forward progress. Strange’s teeth are grit. Their eyes meet. Their mouths meet seconds later.

Tony steps into Strange’s space, pinning his hands against the door. Strange could struggle if he wanted, big as he is he might even win. But Tony feels him go lax.

Tony speaks a breath away from Strange’s lips. “You saw this coming too, didn’t you?” A stutter of an answer follows, the start of a breath. Tony cuts him off. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

But he does, as they find each other again. Fingers in each other’s clothes. Breaths mixing together like a chemlab experiment. Their noses nudge when their heads turn. A sigh precedes their rejoining.

Tony wants to know what Strange saw in the one hopeful future. Why Strange not only spared his life, but swore to protect Tony above himself and the time stone. He wants to know if Strange knew Tony would be here today, and where he thinks Tony will be tomorrow. Thanos is dead and the universe is burning, what could have been worth saving?

When they break, Strange’s lips graze Tony’s chin. There’s a tremor in his exhale as he moves to Tony’s jaw.

Tony wants to know, but he doesn’t. It’s the end of the universe, and for one of few times in his life Tony does not want to think. He wants to close his eyes and let the pieces fall wherever they want.

*The End*


End file.
